N is for 98.6 Degrees of Separation
An A/U Numb3rs fan fic
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine. I'm taking the fifth about the fuzzy pink handcuffs, though.
Rating: T to be safe
Author's Note: This is the sequel to T is for Terminal The author (that's
me) suggests you read that first.
Description: "I know people bargain with You all the time. I know that forgiveness is probably too much to ask for, but please, this one thing and I'll never ask for anything again."
Don looked away from the prone figure on the bed and scanned the honeymoon suite, and gaped for a moment at the sight of a computer on the desk. Who the hell surfed the web on their honeymoon? Except geeks, of course.
And people who needed an instruction manual.
The corners of his mouth twitched, but the smile faded quickly. He shot an apologetic look at the man on the bed. That had been an unworthy thought.
He studied the man silently for a few minutes.
The hooked nose and dark, unruly hair advertised the victim's ethnic origin. He was slightly under average height; slender in build, but not too thin. He didn't look malnourished or unhealthy. There were no obvious signs of damage. There were no signs of foul play.
Well, other than the pink, fuzzy handcuffs that bound him to the headboard and a three foot, tubular sandbag that was draped across his ankles like an affectionate dachshund.
Don leaned over to examine the handcuffs more closely and found himself staring into dark brown eyes.
The victim blinked.
Don couldn't help gloating, not that he tried hard. He said, "Hey, Charlie. Long time, no see."
Naturally, Charlie tried to sit up. Obviously, that wasn't going to happen.
Charlie raised his hands as best he could and studied the handcuffs. His brow puckered, but he made no comment. After ascertaining that he was, indeed, handcuffed, Charlie returned his attention to Don.
Don breathed a sigh of relief when Charlie didn't immediately react with anger. He backed up and grabbed the desk chair and straddled it. It was important not to crowd Charlie, especially not physically.
"Suppose I shout for help?" Charlie asked.
Don held up his badge. "I warned management that I was going to be questioning somebody that I thought had stolen Charles Eppes' identity."
Charlie's left cheek twitched.
"Can we talk?" Don asked. He folded his arms across the chair back and watched his brother worriedly.
"Obviously," Charlie said in neutral tones.
Don sighed.
Charlie continued. "I think our problem has always been listening."
Don snorted, but he couldn't disagree. Besides the use of "our" was promising. "Um, yeah." He pointed at the fuzzy cuffs. "You can just pull on those," he said.
Charlie studied the cuffs for a few minutes. He gave a few tentative tugs and pulled his hands free from the cuffs. He studied his wrists for a few minutes, as if checking for damage.
Satisfied on that score, Charlie sat up slowly, and looked at the weight across his ankles. He picked up the sandbag and looked up at Don with a bemused expression. "You tied me up with fuzzy pink cuffs and a draft doggie?"
"Well," Don drew that out for a minute. "They were mainly there to prevent you from rolling off the bed, or making a mad dash for the door when you saw me."
"Ah," Charlie said. He looked soberly at Don and rubbed his temples.
"How do you feel?" Don asked, nervously.
"Groggy," Charlie said. "What did you hit me with?" He paused. "And how?"
"Any pain?" Don pressed.
Charlie shook his head. "How?" he repeated.
Don fought of the semi-hysterical urge to say, "Now brown cow." Instead, he opted for a more informative answer. "A little cocktail that my friend Karen Fischer whipped up. Carefully tailored to your body weight and estimated drinking pattern." Don paused. "Rather, pattern of lack of drinking alcoholic beverages."
Charlie frowned. "How could you be sure that I wouldn't drink anything?" His eyes went wide as he remembered his reception and what he had eaten and drunk. "Amita or Dad must have been…"
Don shifted uneasily.
Charlie's voice trailed off and his eyes went wider. When he finally managed to speak again, there was a definite squeak in his voice. "Were both of them in on it?"
"They want us to patch things up," Don said. "Please don't be mad at them."
Charlie stared at him, obviously trying to process this information. "Where is Amita?" he finally managed, still in a rather squeaky voice.
"She and Dad are helping Terry out," Don said.
Charlie looked utterly bewildered and Don couldn't blame him.
"I came to Boston to crash your wedding," Don confessed. "But I lost my nerve at the last minute and started to head home. I met Terry in the airport, in the middle of leaving her husband. We made a pact to try for reconciliation."
"Go on," Charlie said. "Wait. Terry and her husband were on the guest list. I take it you escorted her instead?"
Don nodded.
"Did anyone see…?" Charlie shook that question off. "Never mind, I guess I don't care if anybody saw you. I wouldn't have wanted to know." He sighed and pulled his knees up. "So everbody I know is in on this conspiracy."
"You say conspiracy like it's a bad thing," Don said, in an attempt at humor.
Charlie wrapped his arms around his knees and rested his forehead on his forearms.
Don nodded. "I wanted to say something to you at the reception…"
"What exactly are Dad and Amita doing for Terry?" Charlie said. "Putting rohypnol in Terry's husband's drink? He was at the wedding, you know. He introduced himself and said he'd come stag."
"We saw him," Don said. "Did you tell him that Terry was there? You did see her, right?"
Charlie nodded, then said. "I spoke to Terry, but I didn't tell Wade that she was there."
Don sighed. "Terry didn't expect him to show up. Made our plot to get him to talk to Terry a little easier, though."
"What happened?"
"Simple, Dad and Amita followed him to his hotel, and Amita started flirting with him in the hotel bar."
"I hope she'd changed clothes by then," Charlie said mildly.
Don chuckled a little at the image of a woman in a wedding gown flirting in a hotel bar. "I hope you aren't mad," Don said. He studied his brother to see if maybe the dosage had been too much. Karen was a few floors above them in case of emergency. She had literally flown to Boston on a moment's notice when Don had called on her for help."
"No. I'm still too confused to get angry. Go on." Charlie looked up, and Don decided that while he was still a little groggy, there didn't seem to be any serious side effects.
"Um, well, Amita gave him an extra hotel key, which Wade assumed was for her room."
"It's Terry's room?"
"Yes," Don said. "Then things became musical rooms. Dad took the room I booked and Amita is in Dad's room."
Charlie raised his eyebrows.
Don shrugged. "Well, it seemed like the best plan at the time."
"Oh."
"Congratulations, by the way. Amita is a trooper."
"Thank you," Charlie said automatically. "She's a good sport. One of the reasons she'll put up with me, I guess."
"So, how do you like it out here? Do you miss teaching?"
"I hate the winters," Charlie said. He shrugged. "I still do guest lectures and consulting. Not as good as full time teaching. However, Cal Sci has offered me my job back and I think I'll be able to take them up that. Amita wants to go back to California, too. So she won't be renewing her contract with Harvard."
"Good," Don said. "Dad will be happy to have you closer."
An awkward silence fell between them. Charlie began to look pointedly at the door, and Don spoke up. "I know that I've never been gracious about accepting apologies from you, and that you are tired of accepting apologies from me. But I really wish I that could at least make a stab at doing something to make it up to you. To make up for that fight and all the other times that I've been so out of line."
Charlie sat in silence for a long time. Don shifted uneasily, but as long as Charlie didn't order him out of the room, he was going to stay.
Finally Charlie looked at him and Don was alarmed to see the greyness had seeped back into his face. "Don, after you left… that day… I couldn't sleep. About 5 AM I gave up, wrote Dad an apology and took off on my bike. I decided against using my car. I still think that was a good decision, considering my state of mind."
Don straightened in alarm.
"I started towards school, but then… I wound up at the bridge."
"The one where Finn…"
"Yeah, the one Finn Montgomery jumped from. There's a reason it's called Suicide Bridge… a reason Finn chose it."